


A Taste of Delight

by Syksy



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:14:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25505743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syksy/pseuds/Syksy
Summary: A stranger seems to very much want something from Edmund. It takes him a while to find out what.
Relationships: Edmund Pevensie/Tom Riddle
Comments: 12
Kudos: 76
Collections: Rare Male Slash Exchange 2020





	A Taste of Delight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nabielka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nabielka/gifts).



> Thank you to the lovely K for the beta!

The boy had been staring at Edmund for more than an hour. That much was obvious even in the uncertain light of the bomb shelter. It was an insistent, almost hungry look. As if the stranger could see inside Edmund and would be quite happy to devour all that he found there. If they had been in Narnia, he would have thought – but no, useless to even step on that road. As it was, all he could do was to surreptitiously keep his own watch on the fellow and try not to speculate too much. There was bound to be some terribly mundane and boring explanation to his behaviour.

At one point there was a blackout and after the lights finally came flickering back the boy was nowhere to be seen. Edmund even went as far as to annoy the adults by poking his head in all the darker corners. He found nothing but shadows and dust. The boy couldn’t have left the room by any way that Edmund was aware of, but the fact of his absence was undeniable. It was too peculiar.

Edmund had forgotten all about the mystery boy by the time their paths crossed again. It had been years, but somehow there was no doubt. No moment spent wondering over the familiarity of a stranger’s face or trying to talk himself out of the notion. It was the same boy, older now, obviously, but not really that different from before. He was looking intently at Edmund, this time across the street and with no shadows on his face, but his eyes were the same. The hunger in them, that was what Edmund remembered.

The boy, or young man really, was leaning against the brick wall of a house. His hands were stuffed in the pockets of - was that a robe? Whatever the garment was called, it was made of deep green velvet, so luxurious that the fabric almost begged one to run his fingers across its soft folds. When he saw that Edmund had noticed him, the tiniest of smiles quirked up a corner of his lips. That was just too much.

The road was free of traffic so Edmund just walked straight across. He could not risk letting the stranger out of his sight and have him disappear for a second time. This mystery would be solved, right here and now.

The man did not try to move. If anything his posture seemed to grow more relaxed, his smile wider. It was quite maddening that he could be so casual about this. He was the one who had seemed so very interested at first, not Edmund!

Edmund walked right up to the stranger, almost uncomfortably close, and demanded in a low voice: “Why are you following me?”

“Following you?” the man replied, sounding amused. “I would not call two meetings in seven years following anyone, would you?”

“You know what I mean. Don’t tell me you are here by chance, I won’t buy it.”

The other man smiled at that, a slow and deliberate smile. For some reason Edmund could not take his eyes off those lips. His eyes were dark, and too intense to look at for long, but his lips -his lips were inviting.

Edmund shook his head to clear his thoughts and looked up into the man’s eyes. The hunger was still there, but it was different now. Or not different, expanded. There were things other than destruction promised in those depths. Edmund swallowed.

The stranger offered his hand. “My name is Tom, what is yours?”

Somehow Edmund was not able to get a good explanation out of the man that day. Or any day afterwards, but it did not take him long at all to stop actually trying.

They only ever met late at night, and in strange rooms that Tom somehow procured. Edmund would find a folded note on his desk, with a hastily scribbled address on it and nothing else. Once he tried to ask Tom how those were delivered, but the other man just smiled and leaned in for a kiss.

His kisses were promises. Of what, Edmund did not really dare to guess. When he was honest with himself, which he mostly tried to be, he admitted that he might not ever want to know. There was a darkness in Tom’s hunger, an undercurrent to his thirst that no simple love making could ever quench. It was sweet, all the same, to be lost in him for a while. When they were together the world, all the worlds, briefly ceased to exist.

“I knew that there was something about you,” Tom said, ”something worth knowing. You glow, do you know?” Edmund smiled. He thought it was a nice compliment, even if a bit girly, but Tom shook his head. “I’m serious, Ed. Can’t you feel it yourself?”

“No,” Edmund said, but he was intrigued now. “What is it like?”

“Hard to describe to a Mug- , to someone not used to seeing that kind of a thing. It is sort of a golden colour. It hums all around you but only when I look at it the right way. I imagine most others wouldn’t even notice.”

Edmund frowned. He had never even heard of such a thing, let alone seen it, but Tom seemed quite sure. Could it be something to do with Narnia?

Tonight they had met in front of a rundown terraced house. Edmund thought it looked Victorian, but houses had never been a particular interest of his. He’d desperately wanted to kiss Tom right then and there, but even though the building seemed completely abandoned one could never be too careful. So they’d rushed up the creaking stairs, holding their distance until they’d reached their room for the night. This one had grey walls with peeling wallpaper and a grimy window that gave out to a narrow backstreet. It was the witching hour now, dark with long shadows from their one candle dancing across the walls and ceiling. Tom did not like electricity, and Edmund didn’t mind either way. They’d always had candles in Narnia. 

Tom was sitting on the windowsill, effecting a casual air, but Edmund had gotten to know him too well. Not to mention that he’d been an ambassador once, himself. This was a negotiation stance, and whatever was on the table was very, very important.

Edmund leaned back on his chair. The tactician in him considered the field. It would make sense to proceed with caution, to feel out what the other man already knew, or suspected. But he was so very weary of always being on his toes, off all the omissions and coverups and straight up lies. He wanted to trust someone. He wanted to trust this one, who had in so short a time grown so dear to his heart. Perhaps it would get other secrets out in the open as well, the tactician whispered, never completely silent. Tom clearly had so many of his own, and Edmund would never pry, but…

At the beginning Edmund tried to keep the tale simple. Only the bare bones of a story, cool and factual so that Tom might see beyond the fantastic into a heart that was true. It did not last. He found that with the words came the pain, and the pain muddled the words in turn, so that he had to explain and elaborate and go back again to make it all make even a bit of sense. It took a long time to get to the end and the now, but finally he did. And afterwards the other man held Edmund in his arms as he cried.

A few weeks passed without Edmund hearing from Tom. There had been silences that long before, but not often, so he fretted just a bit. Perhaps telling had been a mistake after all. Perhaps Tom had only ever wanted his secret and was now content to never see his face again. Perhaps even though he had not said anything, he believed Edmund to be stark raving mad and could not get away fast enough. He tried to be content in the knowledge that it had still been the right thing to do, but was unable to completely silence the nagging voice of doubt. So when one evening he came home to find a neatly penned note waiting for him, it felt like a dark and terrible weight fell off of the world. The relief of seeing just the two crisp lines of the address made him giddy. There had never been any reason at all to worry.

Edmund could tell straight away that there was something different about this meeting. Tom kissed him like always, but did not keep a hold of his hand afterwards, nor lead him to sit down on the beaten down settee by the back wall. Instead he walked to the centre of the room, where a table filled with weird debris stood. For a moment Edmund was distracted by the clutter of objects. Was that a skull halfway hidden behind a pile of books? And in that jar, those were wings of some sort, were they not?

“I am a wizard,” Tom said and Edmund’s eyes shot back to him. That voice he had never heard. It was passionate, raw like he was making a confession of love. Like he was finally speaking those words that Edmund had longed to hear and did not dare to utter himself. He could remember once desperately wanting this explanation, did still want it, but he had long since admitted to himself that he’d grown to want other things much, much more. Well, maybe this could lead to that? Maybe all secrets could finally end tonight.

Tom spoke for a long while. He described the situation: the oppression of his people, the danger of magic misunderstood and misused. How some folk were to be pitied but how that could not be allowed to matter. The greater good, that was what he wanted, for all the world to be finally in balance, like it was always meant to be.

The residue of Narnia, of the magic of another world, Tom could use that. It was something akin to a key, he said, in the right hands it could part the walls of reality and let them hop in and out of each one at will. He had done a lot of research and he was absolutely sure now, the spell would work.

For a moment Edmund was tempted. The promise of power and magic and wonder, oh it sang in his veins. To matter again, to behold marvels and once more fight in a war that was glorious, not ghastly and drab – of course he wanted that. And to be able to go back. Yes, a part of him had never made his peace with that door closing, no matter how hard he had tried. But he had fallen once. He had been a child; a greedy, jealous, innocent child and he had fallen. That would never happen again. His had been a hard lesson and he had learned it well. Gifts like this were not given out of love, if they were ever truly given at all.

So he said no.

Edmund never saw Tom again. He sometimes wondered whether he would have, if the rings and the train and all that had not happened. Sometimes, but not very often. When he thought about Tom he thought of an ice-cold cell and the certain knowledge that he had been a fool. He called to his mind the taste of Turkish delights and the feel of snow settling on his lashes. He never let himself remember other tastes, other touches. That way lay regret, and he was far too happy for that.


End file.
